


New In Town

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (sort of), (with some background hanbrough), Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Breaking and Entering, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meet-Cute, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: There were two men standing behind Stan. One of them, a guy with a thin face, square jaw, and thick glasses had an arm outstretched, keys in hand, staring at Stan with incredulity. Stan knew an expression like that could only mean one thing, his stomach turning. Whoever this guy was, he was the person that lived in this apartment. The apartment than Stan was currently breaking into.Stan, upon accidentally locking himself out of his new apartment, decides to attempt entering the empty apartment next to his and simply climbing over the balcony railing to his own. Things don't exactly go according to plan.





	New In Town

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon on tumblr that requested "Fake Dating AU" or "I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!" with stozier, and I ended up doing both. Also posted to tumblr @trash-the-tozier

Stan had been living in New York for a solid three days. He’d moved in on Wednesday, spent Thursday unpacking as much as he could, and started his new job at an Accounting firm today, Friday. Not wanting to seem too antisocial to his new coworkers, he’d agreed to go out with them for a Happy Hour of sorts, and was now coming back home, exhausted and just ready to fall into bed. He made it up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, placed his hand on the handle, and tried to turn it. 

The door handle wouldn’t budge.

Frowning, Stan tried it again. The doorknob had been a little sticky, sure, the lock sliding out and clicking in a couple of times, but it was nothing a little jostle with his keys couldn’t fix. Stan began digging around in his coat pockets, rooting around for a couple of minutes for his apartment key before stopping, cursing, and letting his head fall back.

He hadn’t updated his key ring yet. The only thing on the ring that he still used were his car keys; the house key and mailbox key still on the ring were for his old place. He’d been juggling his new keys around for the past couple of days, but he hadn’t gotten around to replacing them yet, and he knew, just _ knew _that his apartment key was sitting on his kitchen counter next to the cold cup of coffee he’d also forgotten that morning. Stan was locked out. 

Dusk had fallen hours ago, and it was cold out with the sun down. Stan was so tired, not at all feeling up for calling someone--who, the police?--to help him into his apartment. The possibility of renting a hotel room for the night did cross his mind, but it felt incredibly idiotic to spend the money that would take when he was already here, standing outside his apartment door and mere feet from his bed, but unable to get inside.

After jostling at the knob for a little longer, Stan decided he needed a new plan, glancing around for inspiration. He had neighbors on both sides, and on the left was a couple that frankly, going by the things Stan had heard through the rather thin wall of his living room, were terrifying people. He didn’t want to wake them up for help, even if they were home. 

The apartment on the right, as far as Stan could tell, was empty. Over the three days that Stan had been here, the room next to his had been completely silent, and he hadn’t heard or seen anyone going in or out. Despite that though, it had all the signs of a tenant living there; mail in the mailbox, a doormat that said ‘WIPE YOUR FEET, STUPID’ in front of the door, and… Stan’s eye caught on something, causing him to frown. 

There was a fist-sized and obviously fake rock sitting by the front door. Stan recognized it immediately as one of those ‘hide-a-key’ rocks, and almost laughed out loud; it would have blended in well, sure, if this person had a front yard. But the plastic rock was just sitting outside the door of an apartment building, and much more obvious than if this person had just slipped the key under the rug. 

Stan began weighing his options. On the other side of the building, each apartment had a tiny balcony, separated only by a rail he could easily jump over. Stan knew for a fact that his own balcony door was unlocked, and he’d never seen hide nor hair of anyone else living in the apartment next door. He could use the key, slip through this stranger’s apartment as quickly as he could, then jump over the balcony railing and get into his own place. 

Sure, that might be breaking and entering, but he wasn’t going to take anything. And did it really count if nobody actually lived there? Before he could talk himself out of it, Stan opened up the fake rock, got out the key, and got to work.

Almost immediately, a loud voice came floating up the stairs. 

“No Mikey, I’m telling you!” 

Stan resisted the urge to jump away. Those tenants probably didn’t know him, and didn’t know what apartment was his; he would just look like someone trying to enter their own apartment, as long as he didn’t act too dodgy about it. 

“Richie, I’m not trying to embarrass you.” Came a second voice, quieter and more placating than the first. “He’s nice, really! I met him at the library, I think you would like him.”

“Well, I don’t need any more of your pity set-ups, alright? I’ve got a boyfriend, thank you very much.” The first voice--Richie, must be--said loudly.

“You somehow got a boyfriend between this week and last week, when you complained to me about how desperately single you were?” The “Mikey” guy’s voice was heavy with doubt.

“I did. I did! And he’s way cuter than all the dumb book club guys you’ve been matching me up with, so you should just stop trying to--”

A disbelieving silence. The apartment door clicked open, Stan stooping to replace the key into the little rock thing when he realized that the two guys that had been climbing the stairs weren’t talking anymore. He whirled around, and froze like a deer in the headlights. 

There were two men standing behind him. One of them, a guy with a thin face, square jaw, and thick glasses had an arm outstretched, keys in hand, staring at Stan with incredulity. Stan knew an expression like that could only mean one thing, his stomach turning. Whoever this guy was, he was the person that lived in this apartment. The apartment than Stan was currently breaking into. 

The second guy was looking between Stan and his friend, his face one of expectant caution. Stan didn’t know if he should just begin running, or if that would make the situation worse. Then, to Stan’s complete confusion, the first man’s face broke out into an incredible smile.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” He exclaimed. By his voice Stan could tell this guy was the one named Richie, and he was absolutely beaming, hurrying close. “You didn’t tell me you were planning on stopping by tonight!” 

His arms were open for a hug, and Stan simply let the hug happen, unsure of what to do. The man didn’t smell like alcohol, so he probably wasn’t drunk. What was going on? It wasn’t until the man whispered in Stan’s ear that things began to make sense. 

“Please just play along with this.” 

Oh. _ Oh. _ Richie, the entire walk up to the apartment, had been telling his friend about a new guy that he was dating. A guy that, apparently, was fake. A guy that Stan was supposed to pretend to be. 

Well, Stan thought. It was better than being arrested, so he figured he might as well go with it.

“I wanted to surprise you!” Stan answered, reaching up to hug Richie back, and Richie pulled out of the hug, shock all over his face, possibly from the fact that his request had worked. Then he gave Stan a grateful--if not slightly mischievous--smile, and Stan felt something in his chest catch at the sight of it. 

Richie turned back to his friend, his arm still around Stan’s shoulders, and Stan figured it was time to go all in. If luck had his back tonight, he would be able to use Richie’s apartment to get into his own after all. 

“Hi, I’m Stanley Uris.” He said, holding out a hand. He didn’t even need to fake the slight embarrassment in his voice at his next words. “I’m, uh… I’m Richie’s boyfriend.” 

“Mikey” reached out in kind, shaking Stan’s hand. “Mike Hanlon.” He said. “It’s… It’s nice to meet you, Stanley.” 

“Stan, please.” Stan amended, Richie using his free hand to open his now-unlocked apartment door. 

“Want a cup of coffee, Mikey?” Richie asked, but it didn’t seem like much of a question, and Mike didn’t even have time to answer before Stan found himself fully dragged into Richie’s kitchen, Richie flicking the lights on as he went. 

“Alright.” Richie said before Stan could even speak, whirling around to face him and leaning against the counter. “If you’re gonna rob me, could you at least wait until my friend goes home? He was only going to stop in for a cup of coffee. Won’t take long” 

“I…” Stan didn’t know what to say to that. “I don’t know what’s going on.” He confessed. 

Richie sighed a little, pursing his lips, and Stan watched him, feeling like he shouldn’t find the annoyed expression attractive, but embarrassingly, something about it was. 

“My friend Mike, he’s great. Love him to pieces. And he thinks I’m lonely and sad, which is true--” the offhand omission had Stan raising his eyebrows, but Richie didn’t even slow down; he began getting coffee together, fussing with the Keurig on the counter and placing a mug under the spicket-- “and he keeps trying to set me up. His intentions are good, but he’s shit at it. But the thing is, he won’t stop. He thinks I have to be dating someone, which I get, because he just won the goddamn nerd lottery and his librarian ass is engaged to a world famous horror fiction writer, but still. He won’t let me just be sad and lonely in peace.” 

“Wait, who is he engaged to?” Stan asked in interest, trying to ignore the fact that this was, quite possibly, the weirdest conversation he’d ever had. 

“Bill Denbrough.” Richie said with a wave of his hand, and Stan felt his jaw drop. He’d definitely heard of William Denbrough. He had a number of Denbrough paperbacks on his bookshelf.

_ “The _Bill Denbrough?” Stan asked back, and Richie leaned back in exasperation. 

“Is every guy I meet in the vicinity of Mike going to be a goddamn groupie?” He asked. “Bill isn’t even cool. He’s a fucking nerd. But I tell you what.” He fixed Stan with a look. “I’ll get you his autograph if you just pretend to be my boyfriend until Mike goes home. Deal?” 

“Yeah.” Stan didn’t really need the extra incentive--the fact that Richie had hugged him and invited him in instead of calling the cops was reason enough for Stan to play along--but he would take it. “Sure. Deal.” 

The Keurig stopped, Richie grabbing Mike’s coffee with one hand and extending the other out to Stan. So Stan took it, entwining their fingers together--again, something embarrassing in his chest jumped at the touch, but Stan forced it down--and they reentered the living room. 

Richie, Stan was quick to learn, was a very touchy person. They sat next to each other on the couch, so close that if either of them moved an inch they would be in each other’s laps. Richie was very animated when he spoke, and he spoke a lot, so he was always moving, but whenever there was some sort of lull--usually Mike talking, or Stan finding something to contribute that wouldn’t raise any suspicions about just how much of a stranger he was--Richie’s hand would rest on him in some way, over the back of the couch and rubbing a small circle on his shoulder, or playing absently with his fingers, or feather-light on his knee. And while Stan would normally be annoyed by something like that, he found he didn’t mind. It made him feel noticed, and paid attention to when he spoke. Even though it was fake, it made him feel adored.

They talked until Mike finished his coffee, Stan finding out through context clues that Richie’s apartment had seemed empty because for the past couple of days it had been, Richie part of a friend group that took a trip together to celebrate Mike and Bill’s engagement. Stan rather liked Mike by the end of the interaction; he was a kind, sensible, good-natured guy who seemed very welcoming and interested in whatever Stan had to say. 

Stan was finding that he liked Richie, too. He was loud, with huge nerdy glasses and a floppy haircut, but he truly was funny, and tall, with wide warm hands and an attractive amount of scruff. Stan blamed his exhaustion on the passing desire to feel the stubble burn that the barely-there beard would leave against his neck. It felt nice to have Richie’s hands on him.

“I won’t overstay my welcome. I’m sure you two want the rest of the evening together.” Mike said, getting to his feet. He went to the kitchen, washed out his coffee cup, and returned with his hand outstretched in Stan’s direction. “It was really nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Stan said as he shook Mike’s hand, finding he meant it. Richie stood as well to give Mike a hug, and then he was out the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Richie got a stray napkin and pen from the coffee table, writing _ IOU 1 Bill Denbrough autograph _on it in a messy scrawl and handing it over to Stan. 

“Let me know when you want to collect.” He said. “You know where I live. Hell, you did such a good job pretending that you like me that you can take one thing of value out of my apartment and I won’t even call the cops.” 

Stan figured it was about time he explained something. 

“Richie, I’m not trying to rob you.” He said. Richie frowned at him. 

“Then what the fuck were you doing? Because you looked real fucking guilty when I walked up.” He said. “Breaking in for the thrill of it?” 

“I… I live next door.” Stan said, pointing to the left wall of the living room with his thumb. “I just moved in, and I locked myself out of my apartment. I thought your apartment would be empty--because for the past couple days, it had been--and I thought that maybe I could just let myself in and climb over the balcony. I didn’t want to take anything.” 

Richie stared him full in the face for a solid five seconds. Then he burst out laughing. 

“You--you locked yourself out?” He gasped. He had a hand on his chest and was leaning back, his eyes closed, his nose scrunched, his voice high in amusement. “And you, you were trying to--god, the look on your face when you saw me, I really thought…” He faded into laughter again, Stan unable to do much more than stand there.

“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny.” He said, and Richie looked at him, his eyes alight with so much joy and amusement that Stan felt that twist in his chest a third time and decided it was high time for him to leave before he did something dumb, like kiss his stupidly cute next door neighbor.

Richie led Stan out to the balcony, Stan able to jump the rail easily. He checked his balcony door, just to make sure it was unlocked--it was--before turning back to Richie, putting the IOU napkin in his pocket. 

“This has been the weirdest night of my life.” He confessed, and Richie grinned.

“That’s what happens when you live next to Richie Tozier.” He said, winking, the wink so cocky that it was sexy. “When am I going to see you again?”

“Well, I mean…” Was that an implied pickup line, or was Stan’s brain messing with him? “We’re neighbors, so it’s bound to happen sooner or later.” 

“Yeah, but I was hoping for something a bit more concrete than that.” Richie was stepping closer to the railing, and Stan felt himself step closer too. “Like… I don’t know, coffee tomorrow at noon?” 

“Noon?” Stan asked back.

“Yeah, I don’t really wake up early.” 

“You’ll have to walk me there; I don’t know where any of the good coffee places are yet. I just moved here.”

“Exactly! It would be a crime if I didn’t welcome you to New York.”

They were very close now, Richie’s face illuminated only by the moon and the light streaming out through his kitchen. Richie only seemed to be a couple inches taller than him, but Stan still had to tilt his chin up a bit to look him in the eye. 

“A crime?”

“Yeah. Someone’s gotta show that pretty face around.” 

Richie grinned a bit, and Stan gave up on his--admittedly, weak--attempt at restraint, leaning in to kiss him. 

Stan felt Richie take a surprised breath in through his nose, then was kissing him back, hands reaching out to touch him, one falling to his waist, the other on the side of his neck. Richie’s palm was a bit rough, and he smelled nice this close, and he was so warm that it was all Stan had not to melt against him. He pulled back instead, Richie making a small groaning noise in the back of his throat at the lost contact, which tugged a bit of a grin onto Stan’s face. 

“Save it for tomorrow, alright?” He said. Looking reluctant, Richie pulled his hands away. “Night, Richie.” 

“Goodnight, Stan.” Richie winked again. “Be sure to dream of me.”

“Fuck off.” Stan told him, turning to go inside, hearing Richie laugh as he did. Stan got ready for bed, the breath of the kiss still on his lips, now very excited for tomorrow morning. Or, tomorrow at noon.


End file.
